Vice versa (Harry Potter)

«Hi, apple codling moth!

 So far, everything seems to be going fine. I even managed to find out such a thing! Remember the theories we were discussing? We were almost spot on! But that's not for writing about—I'll tell you when we meet. Now everything makes sense! And we were right about the neighbor, too.

I'm stuck on some potions stuff. Letting everything else slide, since, as I checked, no one's ever been expelled from Hogwarts. (Okay, I'm lying—there was one case, but it wasn't about grades.) And even if they kick me out, that would be better for me. Anyway, I'm breaking expectations: they thought the Boy-Who-Lived would shine, but nope! (You-Know-Who now calls me the Boy-Who-Drives-Me-Crazy, haha. But I'm not letting go of him either!)»

«Hi, lemon eater!

 I can't wait! Mysteries, intrigues, investigations—that's our thing! And I miss you terribly...

Your books arrived. Listen, I think we need an eagle. Or maybe a dragon. Because one owl definitely can't handle this treasure trove! Why don't you have a normal postal system? What nonsense! How do you send heavy loads?»

«Hi, apple codling moth!

 I sent six owls at once. They can carry a large package together. Just be ready—they'll arrive at midnight. Otherwise, someone might have a heart attack from the sight.

I have no idea how they send heavy loads, but I'll find out. There's the Floo network, but you can't shove a wardrobe in there for one, and for two—not everyone's house is connected to it. There are probably some special spells for this.

 P.S. The cards are ready. I can't wait for the holiday—and then home!»

Christmas-card-laden classmates, upperclassmen, students from other houses, and even professors eyed Harry Potter warily. (It seemed Hagrid was the only one delighted by the nightmarishly crooked, glitter-covered Christmas tree, nearly squeezing the boy to death in a hug.) Harry himself was all smiles, openly imitating Elvis Presley in his prime and grabbing anything edible from the table he could reach. Over the past six months, he had grown noticeably taller, his robe strained against his shoulders, and he was far from frail.

"Potter, did you make this yourself?" Malfoy asked with an indescribable expression as he passed by. He'd also received a card.

 "Didn't you like it?" Harry asked with genuine disappointment.

 "I-I liked it," Draco replied with a shudder, glancing at the psychedelic snowman under the sparkling snow. "A lot. Thank you."

 Then he hurried away.

"What strength of spirit!" Harry muttered to himself. "An aristocrat, through and through… Sir, wait, sir!"

He intercepted Snape on his way out of the Great Hall.

"Great Merlin, how can he even talk to that freak…" Ron Weasley muttered, but Harry didn't have time to find out whom exactly Ron had called a freak and punch him for it.

"Potter, I was hoping not to see you during the holidays!"

 "Oh, you won't. I'm going home," Harry replied cheerfully. "But I wanted to give you a Christmas present!"

 "If the gift looks anything like your card, then don't bother," the professor said acidly.

 "No, it's a normal gift. The cards were a joke," Harry whispered. "I wanted to see who has a sense of humor and who doesn't."

 "And?"

 "Not great, sir," Harry said despondently. "They either took it at face value or got scared… I think only the Weasley twins got the joke!"

 "Not surprising…"

"Oh, right! Here, sir!" Harry shoved a hefty package in plain wrapping into the professor's hands. "Merry Christmas!"

 "Thank you, Potter," Snape said with some effort. Receiving a gift from Harry in front of the entire Great Hall... It was, to put it mildly, an unusual experience. "And the same to you."

 "Thanks, sir!" Harry beamed and added in a whisper, "For everything."

The professor nodded silently in acknowledgment and left, knowing he couldn't avoid a conversation with the headmaster. The little pest, unfortunately, didn't know that. Otherwise, he'd have given his gift in private…

"Aren't you going to explain yourself, my red-haired friend? Who did you just call ugly?" Harry's voice rang out. "Didn't anyone teach you to watch your words? Let's step outside, and I'll explain everything by the rules!"

A commotion immediately broke out: the youngest Weasley was trying to explain himself, Granger was outraged, the twins seemed to be taking bets, the prefects were trying to calm everyone down, and the headmaster was probably chuckling into his beard… Snape sighed and headed to his quarters. Judging by the weight and shape of the package, it contained books, and it wasn't hard to guess what kind. He was already curious about what exactly Potter had decided to gift him.

"Nice shiner," Terry observed.

 "Isn't it?" Harry grinned smugly. "That guy can throw a decent punch, I'll give him that. I fixed my glasses with a charm, but there wasn't time to run to the hospital wing. It'll fade on its own—it's not my first one."

 "What was the fight about?"

 "The professor, obviously!" Harry replied, climbing onto his favorite branch and pulling an orange from his pocket. "Ah, this hits the spot!"

 "What do you mean, the professor?"

 "Literally! The redhead called him ugly. Sure, Snape's not exactly a looker, but still…" Harry bit into the orange, spraying his friend with juice. "Anyway, I couldn't just let it slide!"

 "You seem pretty attached to your Snape," Terry snorted, wiping his face. "Look at you, jumping in to defend him!"

 "Are you jealous?" Harry squinted.

 "Not in the slightest!"

 "Terry…" Harry spat out a seed and sat up straighter. "Let's cut the nonsense. Here's the deal: I think he's the only somewhat sane person in this school. Annoying, unpleasant, but sane. And really smart. He was friends with my mum and sometimes, when he's in the right mood, he tells me stories about her. About my dad too, but mostly nasty stuff… And people really don't like him. Slytherins respect him but are still wary—he's pals with Malfoy's dad, so the kid treats him fine. But everyone else? They hate him. I can't speak for the other professors, but I haven't noticed much warmth toward him. Maybe from the headmaster, but he's all 'my boy' this and 'my boy' that… creepy old pedophile…" He took a breath. "Can you imagine how it feels to be loathed by practically everyone around you?"

 "I'd lose it," Terry admitted honestly. "Or drink myself into oblivion. Or just run for it. By the way, why doesn't he leave? You said he's a genius—can't he find another job? Especially if he can't stand kids…"

 "That's just it…" Harry said thoughtfully. "It baffles me too. But he always dodges the question. There's some kind of secret there, I'm sure of it."

 "You want to uncover it?"

 "Of course! Will you help? I need your brain for this! Just no silly jokes, I mean it! I've got no one to talk to over there, and passing notes doesn't cut it…"

 "You promised to get that mirror," Terry reminded him. "The two-way one, right?"

 "The twins promised," Harry nodded. "But it's taking forever… Don't worry, I haven't forgotten!"

 "Alright, truce," Terry said with a smirk, extending his hand. "I've just missed you, and all you talk about is Snape…"

 "Well, I ask about our folks, and you say 'nothing new,'" Harry retorted. "What else am I supposed to do?"

 "You're impossible, Potter…"

 "I hear that a hundred times a day," Harry replied, spraying orange juice again.

 "Stop spitting! You got me right in the eye! Speaking of…" Terry blinked and looked at his friend. "How about the books? Did they suit him?"

 "I'll find out after the holidays," Harry said with a sly smile. "But judging by what I skimmed through, they should. Only… damn it…"

 "What now?"

 "You see, it turned out stupid. I didn't mean to give them to him in advance—I brought the package to the feast, planning to leave early, catch him, and hand it over. But he left first, so I had to chase him. Otherwise, I'd never find him in time, and I'd miss the train! So, in front of the entire bewildered hall, the 'Chosen One' hands a gift to the most hated teacher of all time and wishes him a Merry Christmas! I just realized how that must've looked…" Harry hunched his shoulders. "I can feel the fallout coming."

 "What's the big deal?" Terry asked, puzzled.

 "We'll find out soon enough," Harry replied thoughtfully…

*

decided to add holidays for Halloween

*

Naturally, the summons from the Headmaster came swiftly—hardly had Harry unpacked his things after returning from the holidays and finished his dinner.

"Harry, my boy," Dumbledore greeted him warmly. "Please, take a seat."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said politely.

"Tea?"

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied, though he had no intention of drinking any—he'd read enough in Snape's books about the kind of potions one could slip to an unsuspecting victim to make them spill the truth.

"How were your holidays?"

"Fantastic!" Harry exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm, launching into an animated story, his gestures so lively he nearly knocked over the teacup. "Terry—that's my friend—and I gave Dudley, my cousin, a good thrashing. Granted, his gang ambushed us later, but we fought them off and pushed them into a ditch. Of course, I got in trouble at home for that, but it was worth it! Ahem… Sorry, sir, why did you call me here? Was it because I got into a fight with Weasley before leaving? Or is it about that black eye I gave Malfoy? He asked me to demonstrate the move I used on Weasley, but he turned his head at the wrong moment… His father complained, didn't he? I heard he's an important figure—"

"No, no, Lord Malfoy didn't complain," the Headmaster interrupted, attempting to catch Harry's gaze. Harry, however, steadfastly focused on the tip of Dumbledore's nose. "Nor did Mr. Weasley. This is about something else entirely... Lemon drop?"

"What? Oh, no thanks, I'll just have a lemon," Harry said with a dazzling smile. He pulled a lemon from his robe pocket, wiped it on his sleeve, and sank his teeth into it, spraying juice everywhere. Dumbledore visibly flinched. "So, what happened, sir? What did I do?"

"Nothing, nothing," the Headmaster assured him with a smile, sipping his tea. "But you see, the thing is... Over the past few months, I've noticed that you've grown quite close to Professor Snape—"

"What?!" Harry straightened in his chair, his eyes wide. "What do you mean by that, sir? I swear the professor isn't engaging in any… inappropriate behavior! I'd report it immediately if he were!"

Dumbledore choked on his tea. Someone among the previous Headmasters snorted. (Harry guessed it was the distinguished, silver-haired gentleman with a haughty expression, named Black, if he'd read the nameplate correctly.)

"No, no," Dumbledore said hurriedly. "Nothing of the sort! How could anyone suspect Severus of such… such things? I only meant to say that, upon reviewing the detention logs, I noticed you either serve them with Mr. Filch or with Professor Snape, mostly the latter—and in significant quantities."

"I'm terrible at Potions, sir," Harry said with a dramatic sigh. "And the professor is so demanding… I can't let the House down, can I? It already loses points because of me! I'm trying my best, I swear!"

Harry couldn't care less about House points, but he was determined to maintain his image.

"Transfiguration doesn't come easily to you either," Dumbledore pointed out, "yet Professor McGonagall doesn't assign you such detentions."

"Maybe she's satisfied with my average performance?" Harry quipped before he could stop himself.

"Still," Dumbledore pressed, "don't you find this situation a bit unusual?"

"What's unusual about it, sir?" Harry feigned confusion. "I like the subject, but I lack the skill, the knowledge, and probably the talent. If Professor Snape is willing to take the time to help such an incompetent student, I'm genuinely grateful to him! Transfiguration, though… It's just too dull for me," he added. "So, with all due respect to Professor McGonagall, I only do the minimum required for an 'Acceptable'."

"And you don't want to fly..."

"No, I'm afraid of heights," Harry lied smoothly.

"Your father was an excellent Quidditch player!"

"Seems like he fell off his broom a few times—headfirst," Harry thought but said aloud, "I prefer football. And table tennis. Oh, sir, why don't we start a table tennis club? It wouldn't take up much space; there are plenty of empty rooms. Someone could transfigure a table, and we'd find some paddles... I could be the president!"

"An intriguing idea, my boy," Dumbledore mused. "And what about Mr. Filch?"

"What about Mr. Filch?" Harry was puzzled by the sudden change in topic. "Do you think he'd object? I'd clean up after myself, I promise."

"No, Harry, that's not what I meant. You never complain about serving detention with him, do you? Most students fear and dislike him…"

"Why would I complain?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. "Is it hard for me to mop floors? It's hard for him—he's old, can't do magic, and only has Mrs. Norris for company! He deserves pity and help, not fear..."

The silver-haired portrait stifled a suspicious cough and regarded Harry with newfound interest.

"Harry, why don't you have any friends?" Dumbledore asked, changing tack again.

"What do you mean?" Harry looked perplexed. "I have a friend, out there in the big world. And here... Well, there's Malfoy, for instance. Nott..."

"Ahem… I don't think that's quite the right crowd for you," Dumbledore said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Why not?" Harry asked, baffled. "I'm the heir to an ancient family, after all! Even if I'm only half-blood, on my father's side, I outrank Malfoy, and he knows it. In the future, we'll have to interact, maybe even conduct business, and I know nothing about etiquette. He gave me a few books on the history of noble families and such. Really interesting stuff, by the way."

Malfoy really did give him the books—after getting a black eye under the second one—declaring that for the heir of the Potters, Harry was astoundingly uncouth. Nott, on the other hand, was surprisingly calm and impeccably well-mannered. He checked what Potter had learned from the reading and how he had interpreted it. Even Crabbe and Goyle weren't just dumb bodyguards for the illustrious Malfoy; they were more like vassals, just as their fathers were to Malfoy Sr. They weren't silent because they couldn't speak but because they had learned to keep their mouths shut.

"Commendable, commendable of you to plan for the future, but still—"

 "And what about Longbottom?" Harry interrupted. "He's a pureblood too, just a bit downtrodden. He'd do well in Hufflepuff, you know—he'd open up there. On Gryffindor, though, they'll ruin him! Or he'll end up killing himself."

 "What?!"

 "It's simple. He's already fallen off his broom. Who knows what else might happen? But he's the best at Herbology—Professor Sprout would carry him on her hands!"

 If she could lift him, Harry added mentally. Though she probably could…

"Why don't you try befriending someone like Ron Weasley?" the Headmaster pressed.

 "Let him apologize for calling me a 'freak' first. Then I'll think about it," Harry replied curtly. Since his condition for forgiveness involved Ron apologizing personally to Professor Snape, Harry was confident that pigs would fly before Weasley did that. No way he had the guts.

"And Granger—she's a very bright girl…"

 "Sir, all she talks about is studying! Five minutes of that, and you want to jump out a window!"

"Well, there are many other good students, both in your House and in others…"

 Why do you keep pushing Gryffindors on me? Harry thought.

"Harry, why don't you ever ask about your parents?" the Headmaster asked, changing the subject slyly.

 "Why would I? I mean, pardon me, sir—why?" Harry replied, baffled. "Everyone's already buzzed my ears off about what they were like and what they did. There's plenty about them in the papers too."

He finished one lemon and pulled out another, even larger than the first.

 "Merlin, my boy, how do you eat those?" the Headmaster couldn't help asking.

 How do you eat that cloying candy? Harry wanted to retort, but instead he said:

 "With pleasure, sir! Am I a Lemon Eater or not, after all?"

This time Dumbledore truly choked, spilling tea into his beard. Harry sincerely hoped it would stick together.

 "What did you just call yourself?" the Headmaster asked after recovering.

 "A Lemon Eater," Harry replied, still chewing. "It's my nickname, from my old school."

 The Headmaster sighed with relief but didn't offer an explanation.

"Well, it's late, almost curfew," Dumbledore said. "Off you go, Harry. You need a good night's sleep before your classes!"

 "Thank you, sir," Harry replied, stuffing the half-eaten lemon into his pocket and leaving, spreading a citrusy scent as he went. On the portrait, Director Black was openly shaking with laughter, and Harry winked at him. Seemed like a kindred spirit...

Once in the corridor, Harry paused to think. He didn't like any of this, but there was only one person he could share his suspicions with. Not that the man would be thrilled to see him, but it was worth a try. The only issue was that he could make it to the Hufflepuff dormitory before curfew—thanks to Terry's mechanical watch, a Christmas gift that was a godsend in this castle—but he couldn't make it to the dungeons in time. He didn't want to risk it, so he rummaged through his pockets again.

"Mrs. Norris…" he called softly, tapping the floor with a treat. "Mrs. Norris, here, kitty kitty…"

A gray shadow materialized from the gloom within minutes, graciously accepted the offering, allowed herself to be petted, and looked at him questioningly.

 "Kitty, can you take me to the dungeons?"

 The cat's eyes widened, and Harry was convinced she wasn't just any ordinary animal.

"I really need to see Professor Snape, but it's late, almost curfew," he explained. "There are portraits and ghosts everywhere; someone's bound to see me and snitch… But you know all the secret ways, don't you, kitty?"

 "Mrrr…" the cat said thoughtfully.

 "You won't regret it, I promise," Harry assured her.

"Mrrrr," she agreed, turned, and darted forward.

All Harry could see was the gray tail flicking in the darkness. Mrs. Norris led him through passages so obscure he could barely remember them—there weren't even torches lit here. Yet, they reached Snape's quarters in record time, much to Harry's relief. The professor might not have gone to bed yet.

"Thanks, kitty," Harry said sincerely. "I'll write to a friend in the morning—he'll send you more treats!"

 "Mrrrr…" Mrs. Norris replied contentedly, sitting down and curling her tail around her paws. She seemed curious.

Harry steeled himself and knocked on the door.

To his luck, Snape wasn't asleep and didn't seem to be planning on it either, judging by the smells wafting from his lab. Harry doubted the man ever slept.

 "Well, this is a surprise!" Snape said. "Potter! What brings you here after curfew?"

 "Uh, important matter, sir," Harry reported. "No one saw me—I had a reliable guide!"

 "Mrrrow," the cat confirmed, her glowing eyes shining in the dark.

Snape glanced at her, shook his head, and looked back at Harry.

 "Well, if Mrs. Norris agrees to accompany you, I suppose I have no choice but to surrender… Come in already!"

"Thank you, kitty," Harry said earnestly, and Mrs. Norris trotted off to patrol the castle.

"Well, what is it?" Snape asked curtly, briefly peering into his lab to ensure everything was in order.

"Sir…" Harry frowned. "After dinner, the Headmaster summoned me and kept asking why we'd grown so close."

 "What did we do?!"

 "Well, he noticed I'm always here for detentions and seemed concerned. I kept telling him I'm a hopeless case and that you're spending an insane amount of time trying to hammer something into my thick skull… Something like that."

Snape hunched over, looking very much like a giant raven.

 "During the holidays," he said slowly, "I had a very unpleasant conversation with the Headmaster on this very topic. Fortunately, you gave him almost the same version I did."

 "And what are the differences?" Harry asked eagerly.

 "I told him that you grew up among Muggles and therefore lack even the basics, and that I cannot allow Lily's son to remain ignorant," Snape replied with a grimace of disgust. "That argument always works well on him."

 "Oh, well, that's fine," Harry chuckled. "I'll hold off on any explosions for now, okay, sir?"

 "Yes, please do!"

 "But I can still come by, right?"

 "And how will you explain your absence to your housemates?"

 "Well..." Harry grinned. "To some, I'll say I was in the library; to others, I was smoking on the Astronomy Tower; and to the rest, crying behind a curtain because I missed home... Not that they'd even ask. They're not like Gryffindors, always sticking their noses into everything."

 "Potter, if you're smoking—"

 "I'm not," Harry said honestly. "Tried it, didn't like it. Besides, where would I even get cigarettes? Although, if I borrowed something from Professor Sprout..."

 "Potter, no experiments with magical plants!"

 "Sir, I was joking," Harry said seriously. "Do I look stupid enough to smoke something I know almost nothing about? I might turn purple. With spots. If I'm lucky."

 "Thank Merlin you understand that," Snape muttered wearily, then suddenly perked up. "Was there anything else?"

 "Yeah. He poked around about my friends—or rather, the lack of them," Harry said, pulling out a half-eaten lemon drop and chewing on it. "You asked about that too, remember? Anyway... I told him honestly who I talk to and who I don't even bother with. He didn't like it."

 "And who did you mention?"

 "Malfoy and his crew, and Longbottom. Didn't get to the older students."

 "Not surprising... Tea, Potter?" Snape asked unexpectedly.

 "Just not sweet!" Harry quickly said. "And no... uh... unexpected additives, please!"

 "I don't drug children with Veritaserum," Snape grumbled. "Here's your cup. Chamomile, sage... it'll help you sleep better."

 "Thank you, sir," Harry said, trying the herbal tea. It was slightly bitter but had a pleasant taste.

 "You didn't try anything the Headmaster offered, did you?"

 "No," Harry shook his head. "I've read enough in your class, so... And another thing—he kept trying to look me in the eye. Can he really read minds?"

 "It's called Legilimency, Potter, and it's not quite the same as reading minds," Snape replied thoughtfully. "In the eyes, you say... You're wearing glasses, which makes it easier to hide your gaze..."

 "How does it work, anyway?" Harry asked with interest.

 "Put the cup down," Snape ordered. "Set it down, or you'll spill it. Now take off your glasses and look at me."

 Harry shrugged, put the tea aside, took off his glasses, and looked into Snape's dark eyes. It felt as though he'd been hit in the head with a brick—or maybe a basketball had smacked into his forehead. Images from the holidays flashed by: he and Terry laughing hysterically as they pushed Dudley's gang into a snowy ditch, Aunt Petunia yelling, and then Dumbledore's office, the phoenix, a smirking portrait...

 "Whoa..." Harry staggered back, barely holding back a curse. "That's intense! So you can do that too?"

 "I can do many things," Snape said with a smirk. "All of them unpleasant. Did you note the sensation? Though it likely won't help you—breaking visual contact on your own requires more strength than you have."

 "Then I just won't look anyone in the eye," Harry decided, putting his glasses back on. "Glasses won't help, right?"

 Snape shook his head.

 "Too bad... Are there any defenses against it?"

 "Hmm..." Snape smirked. "It's very hard to probe the mind of a drunk person, but you're far too young for that. And, of course, there's the art of shielding your mind from intrusion..."

 "Can you teach me?!" Harry jumped up.

 "Merlin's underpants, why did I even mention that?" Snape muttered. "As if your... visits weren't enough, now this?! And anyway, you're too young to start learning it..."

 "Even if I'm young, it's still necessary," he thought.

 "Come on, I can do it! I'm persistent, sir, you know that!"

 "Persistent is putting it mildly... You'd do better to improve your grades in other subjects first, Potter. Stop tarnishing the family name!" Snape said, then paused, realizing what he'd said. After all, James had been an excellent student...

 "I don't want to," Harry said defiantly.

 "And why not?"

 "I told you before, sir, I find it boring to turn a mouse into a goblet. I can do it, but I see no point. I don't understand the process, and if I don't understand it..." Harry shrugged. "I mean, I know that both the mouse and the goblet are made of atoms, molecules, and so on. But so what? When I say the spell, is it molecular restructuring? How? Why? What about the conservation of mass and energy? Things like that... Just saying 'It's magic!' doesn't convince me, sorry."

 Snape put his head in his hands again. He knew the answers to these questions and the relationship between magic and science. But how was he supposed to explain it to a stubborn boy, when even some adult wizards struggled to grasp such concepts?

 "You do know, don't you, sir?" Harry peered into his face. "You definitely know. So other professors must know too. Why don't they explain it to us, then? It'd be much more interesting to do something when you understand how it works!"

 "Potter, they don't explain it for the same reason kindergartners aren't taught quantum physics."

 "But we have lectures on quantum physics for beginners," Harry retorted. "If someone's interested, they'll find them and figure it out. And honestly, they could organize electives!"

 "Take that suggestion to the Headmaster; he'll be thrilled."

 "I already suggested a table tennis club. He wasn't exactly excited," Harry admitted. "Sir?..."

 "What now?!"

 "Will you explain how it all works? Please? You're so clear in your explanations during Potions. What does it cost you?..."

 "So, Potter, you're asking me to start teaching you from the basics?" Snape asked acidly. "Take you on as a personal student? Never mind that I already have enough on my plate: being a Head of House, grading cursed homework, teaching classes, brewing potions for the Hospital Wing and... other purposes? Not to mention, I'd like to work on my own research, write a few papers, and, you know, rest! Do I look like I'm made of steel?"

"And I really am like I'm made of iron," he thought gloomily. "But who knows about it?"

"Sir, I'm sorry, I... probably overreacted," Harry muttered, frowning. "I just wanted to study properly while I'm here, not mess around. And actually, I can help you with the Hospital Wing's potions. And with other stuff too—chopping, grinding, cleaning... That all takes time!"

"Potter, you could be used as a battering ram," Snape said hopelessly. "Breaking down walls with your forehead. Especially since even deadly curses bounce off it."

"Uh, what?"

"You've convinced me. It's simpler to explain the basics to you than to listen to your whining! But," the professor raised a hand, "only at the most elementary level. If you want more, you'll have to work independently; I'll recommend some literature. But there's one condition!"

"What is it, sir?"

"Never experiment anywhere or on anything except under my supervision, here, until I permit otherwise. No experimenting on yourself or others."

"Do you take me for an idiot, sir?" Harry asked, offended. "Even Muggles test on mice or rabbits first… Or build computer models, even!"

"Then build them!" Snape snapped. "With ink, on parchment! And by the way, hand me another piece of homework on lined paper, and you'll regret it."

"Sir," Harry said with dignity, "I'm willing to respect traditions. But writing with a quill on parchment in the twentieth century? No thanks! It splatters!"

"Fine," Snape said, surprisingly amused. "We'll compromise. You can use a ballpoint pen on parchment. I think I can live with that."

"Thank you, sir!" Harry's green eyes gleamed as he resumed peeling a lemon. "May I ask a question?"

"Even if I say no, you'll still ask, won't you?"

"Yep. Why did the Headmaster act so weird when I said I was an Eater?"

The professor promptly choked on his tea.

"Your reactions are so predictable," Harry said, disheartened.

"Show me your arm!" Snape hissed after coughing.

"Uh? Which one?"

"The left! Sleeve up!"

Finding nothing on Harry's arm but a few bruises and scratches, the professor exhaled in relief, poured himself a glass of firewhisky, and downed it in two gulps.

"It's just my nickname," Harry said, offended. "Lemon Eater. And I call Terry the Codling Moth because he likes apples."

Snape considered this and poured himself another glass.

"What's the problem, anyway?" Harry asked, puzzled. He could tell something was off and was determined to figure it out, as Terry had always taught him.

"You see, Potter," Snape began in a flat voice. It was clear he was debating whether to speak or not, but he eventually decided to. "You see... the followers of the man who killed your parents called themselves Death Eaters."

Harry stifled an inappropriate laugh. He thought if you were going to name an organization, it shouldn't sound so ridiculous and pretentious.

"It's not funny, Potter," Snape said. "You were orphaned. Longbottom essentially was too—his parents were driven mad by torture. Many lost their families in that war."

"And if I hadn't caught that Killing Curse with my heroic forehead..." Harry mumbled.

"Precisely." The professor finally turned to face him. "Also, Potter, Death Eaters bore a mark like this on their left forearm..."

He tore off his cufflink and pulled up his sleeve to reveal a faint tattoo-like mark. To Snape's surprise, the boy didn't flinch.

"Like the Yakuza," Harry said thoughtfully.

"Is he completely unshakeable? Not just to the Killing Curse but to...?" Snape thought.

"So, were you also...?" Harry asked with deliberate nonchalance. In reality, his mind was racing: On the one hand, Snape was a nasty piece of work. On the other, he was teaching Harry things no one else likely even knew. On yet another hand, the Headmaster had seemed unsettled upon learning of their... close cooperation. And yet, Harry didn't particularly like the Headmaster.

"Yes, I was," Snape replied, averting his eyes.

"And since you work here, the Headmaster definitely knows who you were. Like, redemption through honest work and all that... That's why Snape can't leave!"

"You can't leave the school because the Headmaster is blackmailing you, can you?" Harry asked directly.

The professor poured himself a third glass of firewhisky.

"In what sense?" he asked.

"In the straightforward one. He knows you were a Death Eater, then... I don't know, you repented or ran away and sought his protection, and he helped you," Harry said with brutal honesty. "Though, honestly, with help like that, you'd be better off hanging yourself. And if you leave—and who lets a specialist like you go?—he'll out you."

"He knows..." Snape said gloomily, staring at the nearly empty bottle. He felt unbearably awful. "To hell with it!" he suddenly decided. "Potter, do you know what a double agent is?"

"Of course!" Harry answered eagerly, then froze. "Wait. I think I get it. You infiltrated their side... I've roughly described the path, right? But you're actually working for the Headmaster and spying on those... Death Eaters?"

"If only you'd apply your intelligence to your studies..." Snape drank the firewhisky straight from the bottle.

"You just admitted I'm not an idiot, sir!" Harry said triumphantly.

"You're not an idiot, Potter," Snape agreed. "You're an arrogant, self-satisfied, overconfident brat. Just like your father."

"That's not true, sir. First," Harry began counting on his fingers, "I'm not some privileged rich kid; I'm basically street scum. Second, I couldn't care less about magic—I want to be a vet. Third..."

"Shhh!" Snape hissed, and Harry fell silent instantly.

The fireplace flared green, and the headmaster appeared in the flames.

"Severus, my boy," he said. "Is this appropriate: drinking on the eve of a workday?"

"I was cleaning up the empty bottle," Severus replied coldly, standing so that the folds of his robe blocked Harry's view. Harry understood and dove under the table, grabbing his telltale cup. So what if he spilled? The tea was cold anyway... "Is something wrong?"

"Harry, by any chance, is it you?" Dumbledore asked.

"Why would it be?!" Severus exclaimed, genuinely surprised.

"He's not in the 'badger's den,' nor in any other common rooms, although he rarely visits anyone... The Owlery was checked, and really, who would send him an owl in the middle of the night?"

"Search the Forbidden Forest," Professor Snape suggested maliciously. "He might wander there and make the entire castle a mess on the night before the first day of school!"

"Yes, maybe he went to Hagrid... Sorry for the trouble, Severus!"

The fire died down.

Severus blocked it just in case and tapped the table.

"Come out, Potter. Nice dive."

"But you were turned away from me, sir!" Harry said as he emerged and brushed his robes.

"But I'm not deaf yet. And everything is perfectly reflected in the mirror on the mantelpiece."

"A-a..." Harry sank back into the armchair. "Will you have any problems because of me? Cornered from all sides, d-damn!"

"It shouldn't be... Potter..."

"Yes, sir?"

"I asked both of them, unnecessarily, I might add," Severus muttered to the ceiling. "I didn't just ask—I begged them not to kill her. I'm sorry to say that at the time, I didn't care about you. Only one of them saved her, and even that wasn't a real attempt. The other... the other threw up his hands and said he would do everything possible. Alas, she was too determined to protect the child. You—understand?"

"Yes," Harry said after a pause, processing the new information. "You mean my mom."

"Exactly."

"And also about the director and that Dark Lord..."

"Lord."

"Oh, come on, what difference does it make, sir? The point is, you understood... In short, both were jerks," Harry concluded. "And you also said 'I didn't care back then.' That's clear enough—because you knew my mom, and what about me? But now?"

"Now, I can't rid myself of you, Potter," Severus sighed. "You'll drive me to an early grave."

"So everything is still on, sir? About the lessons? And we can confuse the director!" Harry said excitedly.

"Well, well," Professor Snape said skeptically. Most likely the firewhiskey had taken effect: the boy in front of him looked like James Potter but was not his exact copy. And it had nothing to do with Lily Evans' eyes. It was something else entirely...

"How do I sneak back in...?" Severus murmured thoughtfully. "Mrs. Norris is in another wing right now..."

"How do you know that?"

"They always start their patrols from the same spot, and I know the route. Judging by the time... they're too far away now. I probably can't summon them. What should I do, sir?"

"One moment..." Severus sighed and called out: "Most Esteemed Baron! Please come as quickly as possible!"

"I'm listening, Professor," the Slytherin ghost replied a few seconds later. Harry politely bowed to him just in case and received a nod in return.

"Don't take this as a bother. Escort this young man to his dormitory. Make sure that no portraits or other ghosts see you—especially Peeves."

"Of course, Professor," the ghost said with dignity, staring at Harry. "Come along, young man, quickly! I heard you've been the subject of a real manhunt."

"Oh, damn," Harry shivered. "I'll be in trouble tomorrow... I'll say I fell asleep in the greenhouses, that should work!"

"They already searched there," the Baron said.

"Then I don't know," Harry admitted, looking at Severus helplessly. "Sir?"

"What? Say you were in the Room of Requirement."

"Where?!"

"I'll explain later. For now, don't make Mr. Baron wait. If they ask how you knew about the room, don't say a word, all right?"

"All right! Thank you, sir!" Harry blurted and rushed toward the door. "E-eh... Mr. Baron?"

"Follow me, young man," the ghost replied and majestically glided down the corridor.

Severus opened a cabinet. It was catastrophically empty.